“Hang on, I just gotta take a quick piss,” Nick said to his friend Doug waiting by the truck, smoking a cigarette, heading home from their summer road trip. A biker smoking a cigar watched Nick head into the rest stop bathroom, and followed after him.
At the urinal, Nick felt a hand cup his ass suddenly, a plume of smoke blowing across his face. He looked up, still pissing and saw the biker staring at him. The hand slid up the butt of his jeans and down the back, the biker groping his ass. “Wanna be mine, boy?” the biker asked, leaning in close, “Could make this hole of yours happy as fuck.”
Nick was frozen in place, the man’s hand sliding down his crack, one finger at his hole, “Say it boy, all you have to do is say yes.”
Nick’s breath was quick and shallow, and all he could get out was a stammered, weak “No.”
Still, the biker, chuckling, slid his hand back out, sniffed his hand, and clomped out of the restroom. “Suit yourself. I always get what I want though.”
Alone again, Nick collapsed against the urinal, nearly crying. What in the hell had just happened? A couple of minutes later, Doug popped his head in. “Are you still pissing? Come on, let’s get home before dark.
On the ride home, Nick was silent, and Doug could sense something was wrong, but couldn’t drag it out of him. How could Nick tell him he’d just been molested by an old biker in the middle of his piss? Doug hated faggots—and he didn’t want his friend to think he was a faggot.
Doug dropped him off at his dad’s doublewide and drove off. Nick did his best to forget that anything had even happened, and went inside, told his dad he was tuckered, and went to bed without dinner. Down the block, a motorcycle idled, and the butt of a cigar burned in the dark.
It was a couple of days later that Nick came home from hanging out with Doug, and found his dad on the couch, home from work, smoking a pipe. Nick found this odd–his father always preferred to chew, and when Nick asked him about it, his dad didn’t seem quite able to tell him where the pipe had come from, or why he was smoking it. The smoke smelled familiar, and Nick was uneasy all evening until he finally realized it had the same stink as that biker’s from the restroom. Still, it was probably just tobacco from the same brand, right?
His dad was acting strange. He kept…staring at Nick, and not in a normal way. In a…hungry way. When he thought Nick was out of the room, he kept seeing his dad grope himself in his camo pants, but never when Nick was around. His dad broke out the whisky early, and was out on the couch by midnight when Nick went to bed himself. It was several hours later that the door to his room opened, and his dad staggered in, pipe lit, cock hanging out the fly of his pants. He threw the covers off Nick, waking him up, but forced Nick onto his stomach and climbed on top of him. Nick tried to scream, but his father shoved his face into the pillow as he rammed his cock into his hole raw and unlubed. It was quick–four thrusts, and his father exploded in his ass, before collapsing on him, breathing hot smoke and whisky breath onto his son’s neck. Without speaking, he got up and stumbled back to his room.
Nick couldn’t move. At first, he thought he just didn’t want to move, but then he realized, he actually couldn’t move. Another man was in the doorway–the biker, his room full of smoke, but he didn’t say anything. The room was full of smoke now, and Nick realized he must be dreaming. Not all of it was a dream. He woke up, feeling his father’s cum dried down the crack of his ass, but that was normal, right? His dad always liked fucking his hole when he got too drunk. Nick stopped, realizing what he’d just thought. His dad had never done anything like that to him before–so why in the hell had he thought…
The door opened, and it was his dad, morning wood jutting straight out. Nick lipped his lips as his father climbed on him and skullfucked him, blowing his load across his son’s face before getting dressed in his workgear and heading to the construction site. Nick got cleaned up, everything feeling more normal suddenly, and then left and started walking to Doug’s house, when a motorcycle pulled up next to him, the biker smirking at him.
Nick went to run, but the biker grabbed him and pulled him close, one hand twisting Nick’s nipple. “How about now, boy? You’d rather have your hole fucked by your dad, or by me? How about a nice ‘yes’?”
Nick was frozen, but again said no. The biker released him, and drove off, saying once again, “I always get what I want boy!”
Nick arrived at Doug’s place, knocked on the door, and was his friend opened it, cigar planted in the corner of his mouth. Nick just stared at him, and asked him where the cigar had come from. Doug told him he always smoked cigars, and pulled him inside. Doug suggested that they take a walk in the woods, but when Nick told him he just wanted to stay in today, Doug instead insisted. His friend had never been so forceful before, and something in Nick…something made him feel compelled to obey.
They hiked out into the woods, and Nick swore that as Doug smoked, something was happening to him. He was getting…bigger. In fact, by the time they reached the river, his friend, who had been an inch or two shorter, was now six inches taller, his body filled out with muscle, and his eyes. His eyes were cruel. They reached the river, and Doug turned to him, “Kids at school–you know, they’re saying your dad’s a faggot.”
“He’s…he’s not a faggot,” Nick said.
“They say he’s a faggot, and they say you’re a faggot too. That you let your dad fuck your ass, that you want him to fuck you.”
“That’s not fucking true!” Nick shouted, but Doug grabbed Nick’s groin in a huge hand and squeezed it until Nick let out a groan.
“Not true? Then I suppose that the thought of your dad’s old cock won’t get you hard eh? I suppose that the thought of him coming in your room doesn’t get you all excited, that you don;t get hard at the thought of sucking his scummy cock? Of taking a load of his in your asshole? I bet you started it. I bet you’re the one who begged him to fuck you, you made your dad into a fucking faggot for your hole.”
Nick was listening, but there, across the river, was the biker. The smoke was flowing over the water like a fog, about to envelop them. He was hard. He was hard, thinking about his dad’s cock, thinking about how he’d gotten his dad drunk and sucked him off that first time, how his dad hadn’t wanted to, but Nick was so fucking horny, he was such a fucking faggot for nasty cock…
“No shit–I’ve been friends with a faggot this whole fucking time.”
Nick nodded, and was unprepared for Doug’s fist to slam into the side of his face. There was so much smoke, and yet his view of Doug was perfectly clear, the biggest guy at school, he’d wanted his cock forever. He could see the bulge, probably close to nine inches–how would that feel buried in his ass?
“Please…please, I just want…I just want to serve you, please…”
The words were him, but he couldn’t imagine himself saying them.
“Clean my fucking boot, faggot.”
Doug smashed his boot onto Nick’s face, and he licked at the dusty tread, anything for his friend’s cock, anything, he was just a worthless faggot for cock. He licked both boots clean, and only then did Doug reward him, shoving his giant cock deep into his hole, making Nick scream, but it felt so fucking good. Doug came in his ass and tromped off into the forest, telling him he never wanted to see the faggot again, and Nick looked down between his legs, and saw that he’d shot his own load on the dirt trail.
The smoke had cleared. He stood up, and started out of the woods, pleased with himself. Sure, Doug would tell everyone at school he was a stupid faggot, but he’d finally got that massive cock in him. It was worth it. Besides, he was just a worthless faggot, after all, right?
Waiting for him at the head of the trail, he found the biker, cigar burning. Nick approached him, hesitantly, felt the leather jacket–it was too cold compared to the summer air. “What do you say now, boy? You want to be mine? Be my little cubby faggot?”
Nick reached down and felt the biker’s cock through his jeans. Big, but not as big as Doug’s. And he liked his dad. He liked getting fucked by him. And maybe…maybe more guys at school would want to fuck him now. And he knew Doug would want to fuck him again, sometime. No one could resist his faggot ass. “No, no, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and walked on. The biker looking at him as he left, a bit perturbed, but he got on his bike and drove off.
Nick found his dad’s truck in the driveway when he got home, and was excited for an afternoon fuck. He went inside, but the father on the couch was not the one who had left home that morning. The pipe…it was much bigger now, as was his father. Sometime during the day, he’d packed on close to three hundred pounds, and now, heaps of blubber cascaded off of him. Nick could smell him from across the room, the stench of cum and sweat and…piss? He stood in the doorway, not noticing the tendril of smoke curling in from the kitchen.
“What the fuck are you waiting for, faggot? Get over here and suck daddy’s cock.”
Nick wanted to ask what had happened, he wanted to resist. He didn’t want to serve this fat, disgusting man, but the smoke curled around his feet and drew him closer. He knelt down, feeling the smoke wrap around his body, dissolving his clothes, leaving him naked aside from a set of manacles on his wrists and feet, chained together so he couldn’t walk upright, only crawl. He shoved his face under his father’s apron, searching until he found his short, three inch cock, and started sucking. He hated his father’s cock–mostly because it meant on fuck was satisfying, and his father said his slave’s ass was reserved for him alone. Most fucks were just his father grunting and grinding his tiny cock up Nick’s ass crack until he came–it was miserable. It was difficult breathing as he sucked, but he’d learned some tricks in his years of service, ever since his father had enslaved him. It took some work, but he managed to suck out a load of cum, but he remained, waiting for…something. He didn’t remember until his father released a load of piss for him to swallow; only after could Nick extract himself.
“Footrest,” his father said.
Nick crawled over dutifully and allowed his father to set his booted feet on his hunched back. He remained perfectly still for hours, eventually cramping in his tight position, but he didn’t dare move. Eventually, he heard the grumble of a truck outside; it was Doug’s. What would his friend think if he saw him like this?
That thought struck him as strange. Doug was no longer his friend….Doug was….something else to him.
“Sounds like your trainer’s here,” his dad said, and removed his feet, allowing Nick to uncurl slightly. “Gonna work on your pain tolerance tonight, he said. I do love hearin’ my bitch scream, so be good and loud tonight.”
Doug tromped up and let himself in–now even larger, his body packed with hair and muscle, wearing leather pants and a vest, tattoos covering his body. “Into the dungeon, slave.”
Nick crawled after Doug into the room which had been his, but which now contained a large selection of dungeon gear. He was paddled and whipped until he bled and sobbed. His balls and nipples were stretched, Doug telling him how, soon, his father might let Doug castrate him, and replace his balls with a couple of heavy, iron eggs instead. Doug taunted him with his ten inch cock, telling him he’d never let a slave as worthless as Nick serve it. How Doug would only be serviced by real men, not faggots like Nick.
The room was filled with a haze of smoke, and in the doorway, the biker. Nick pleaded with him silently, begging him to be merciful. The biker simply regarded the scene in silence, until Doug finished training and left, leaving Nick restrained on the table, balls stretched out to the wall, nipples dragged up to the ceiling. Only then, did the biker approach.
“I think…I think I will only ask one more time. Would you rather this be your life? A worthless, castrated pig for your father and his sadistic friend’s twisted pleasures? Or would you rather be my cub? What do you say boy, can I have a yes?”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Y–yes. Yes, please.”
Nick blinked, and when he opened them again, he was back in the rest area bathroom. But now…now things were different. His master leaned over, watching his leather biker cub piss in the urinal.
“I like the look of that PA, cub. Makes you even sexier than you already are.”
“Thank you sir,” Nick said, looking down at the thick ring in the head of his cock, the piss spraying out around it, some of it splattering against the leg of his leather chaps. He took a drag off his cigar–and shared the smoke with his master as he shook piss off the head, and then the biker grabbed his boy by the thick chain collar he wore, dragged him into the stall, and fucked his hole.
Outside, Doug finished his smoke, and felt like he was forgetting something. With a shrug, he climbed back into his truck and started home, but saw a biker and some disgusting fag leave the restroom together. He rolled down the window and shouted, “Faggots!” as he rolled past.
The biker smirked, “Nice friend of yours.”
Nick looked over at him, confused, “I don’t know him, sir.”
“Well, what do you say we follow him, and when he stops next, we turn him into a nasty trucker, who cruises for piss as truck stops?”
“Only if I can make him four hundred pounds with a tiny cock and a hungry hole I can fuck,” Nick said smiling, and they climbed on their bikes, smoke trailing behind them as they drove off down the highway after Doug.